


Of Things Half Tamed

by TuxedoCatLady



Category: Frontier (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Harp Deserves It, Original Character-centric, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-03 20:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12756042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuxedoCatLady/pseuds/TuxedoCatLady
Summary: Two years after Season One. The fur trade has quieted down a bit, but some people choose not to rest.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my story! It will have two parts, the first being the bulk of the story and the second being a smutty epilogue. I will update the tags when I publish chapter two. This story was written in two weeks, which is kind of a record for me, and beta'd at two in the morning, so feel free to comment with any errors you notice. That being said, I love comments in general. They make me go to my happy place.
> 
> Reedited, because trying to edit at two in the morning is a bad idea. Chapter two should be up in a week or so. Having trouble finishing it due to hella mental health issues and also my life is falling apart, but whatever.

There was a bench of rough stone near the edge of the cliff overlooking the bay. It was beautifully encompassed by it’s surroundings. One might think that it had naturally formed in it’s convenient shape if not for the small, worn tool marks. Caitlyn had no idea if it had been brought there with purpose or simply found and set upon with inspiration. When she found it, she took a liking to it and its expansive view.

She carried three letters and a notebook of drawing paper. The first letter was from her youngest sister, Margaret. She had a knack for drawing and would send Cat sketches of each season’s latest fashions from London. She just turned sixteen. Cat hadn’t seen her or any of her kin since a few months after her wedding when she was only just seventeen five years before. Margaret was beginning to entertain suitors of her own now, a fact which terrified Cat. Cat often wondered if sometimes Margaret thought of her not as a flesh and blood sister but as an imaginary friend, someone who didn’t exist outside of her own mind. Her letters were frequent, usually more than one per ship, and read more like a diary than a letter to one’s older sister. Cat, for her part, was forthcoming and honest in her replies.

The second letter was from her mother. Her father had taken ill and now that Cat’s legal troubles were over, there was ample opportunity for her to make the voyage back to England to visit her family. Not to mention that there was a company of officers taking up residence near their home and that brought many other opportunities as well. Cat understood the implication and chose to ignore it. She wondered if dripping blood on the return letter would make the refusal more clear.

The third letter was from the Loring family barrister. Her husband, Joshua, left a very clear will with copies forwarded to the Loring family estates, the London barrister, and their own Montreal lawyer.  Seeing as how Cat had no desire to return to England and Joshua died childless, the Loring estates were to be placed in the care of his nephew, to be worked and reaped as his own sans six hundred pounds a year to Cat until her death, when they would be passed to him fully. Or, more likely, passed to his son or grandson, as the nephew was nearly fifty and Cat was barely twenty three. All of this was easily decided and agreed upon. It was the fate of Joshua’s Montreal holdings that brought out the fight. Loring Family Attire was a successful business by any standard, bringing in nearly a thousand a year in clear profits. Joshua had listed Cat as co-owner on the titles while alive as well as willing her outright the other half that might have gone to an heir. It belonged to her with no stipulations or conditions. The nephew said that it wasn’t proper for a woman to inherit property in such a way and that by all rights it belonged to him as well. Cat said that if he truly believed that, then he could ship himself across the Atlantic and rebuild it brick by brick after she razed it to the ground to keep control of it to the end. The fight lasted two years. Each day she woke up and went to work, pouring her lifeblood into a company that she was never sure would still be hers when she went to bed that night. Her new home in Fort James certainly made squirrelling away assets easier in case she lost.

Cat sat on her little stone bench in her little corner of the world thinking about the life that was hers. The nephew had no legal right to claim her property. Her work was her own. She hadn’t screamed, hadn’t drunk an entire bottle of sherry, hadn’t fainted, when she first read the letter the day before. Instead, she had walked out to one of her favorite spots in the woods behind her house where the grass grew thick and soft and the moss covered the ground beneath it, laid down, and cried.

Normally she would be working on accounts and business orders at this time of day but she had just sent off the last batch of accounts to her woman in Montreal, so instead she just sat and drew. She didn’t have the talent for it that Margaret did, but she enjoyed it. It was still work related, she told herself. She sketched ideas for how to combine London’s latest fashion with the preferences of the Montreal upper class.

The sun was only a few fingers above the treeline behind her when she decided that it had been another day of waiting for naught. She slid her notebook into the pocket of her summer dress, brought out early for the warm spring they had been having, and turned towards home. Fifteen feet behind her standing just under the canopy of the trees was Declan Harp. Cat stopped for a beat, taking in his presence, before turning towards him with a smile on her face.

“Mrs. Loring.” His gaze was steady and piercing, his face as neutral as a face like his can be. He looked much the same as when she had seen him last, though that hadn’t been for more than a minute when they both happened to be pursuing the services of the same exporter. The meeting before that, the only time they had ever been officially introduced, had been when her husband had been alive and wanted to expand their business into fur garments. He had had an hour long meeting with the fur trader, discussing the possibility of setting up long term trade agreements between them. Cat acted as secretary to her husband and was surprised that Harp had taken notice of her enough to recognize her half a year later in a shipyard office. Joshua died a few weeks after meeting Harp, so rather than trying to juggle setting his estate in order, running a business by herself for the first time, her newfound legal struggles, and expanding into the fur and leather clothing industry all at once, Cat sent Harp a polite letter detailing how she had chosen to take her business in a different direction. His return letter had been brief but equally polite in his acceptance of her decision, and the lad who delivered it assured her Harp took no offense.

Two years was a long time in the New World. More than enough time to find one’s footing and, with legal disputes settled, move forward with expansion.

“Mr. Harp. I’m glad to see you in good health.” Truthfully he looked much better than she expected. Rumors were far from accurate, but if less than half of what was said was true, his last two years had been horrifying. He was back on his feet, clearly, and she was glad for it.

“You sent a message through Grace Emberly saying that you wanted to speak to me.” He spoke amiably, but his actions showed caution, that was certain. Cat had given that message to Grace nearly a week before and she knew he had been in town to receive it. She included specific times and places where she might be found. Not her home, though.

“I was hoping that we might reopen our business dealings. It seems to me that they had quite a lot of potential.” She smiled wider at him, soft pretty lips in a soft pretty face. She walked towards him while she talked but kept a respectful distance.

“How did the other direction work for you?”

“A lie. Truthfully, I had much to learn about my own company, and Joshua’s death brought on many unexpected problems both here and in England. And I suppose that you wouldn’t know that his nephew tried to take it from me. Working my heart, soul, and sanity into a company that would soon belong to someone else hardly seemed wise.” She could see the slight twitch of his scarred eyebrow as he took in her honesty. Her voice was crisp and bright, the accent of a girl raised by governesses as much as by nannies.

Cat was near enough to him now that she had to look up, up, up, to meet his eyes. Cat wasn’t tiny, yet he still had over a foot on her. She glanced at the sun, now filtering through the trees.

“It seems I have stayed out too long, happy as I am too see you. If I don’t leave now I won’t make it back before dark.” She said it sweetly. He knew what she wanted, how he ought to respond.

“Let’s walk.” He said. Cat had been hoping for his escort, but this was good enough. She could work with this. She smiled again, her face glowing, and they headed towards Fort James.

 

* * *

 

Declan Harp did not say much as they walked. From what Cat remembered of him, he spoke plenty when he had something to say. Now he listened. Cat was careful of the line she tried to walk, charming and sweet, yet still a businesswoman. Talk enough to keep things moving but not too much as to annoy him. She focused on her plans to add a smaller production center to Fort James, which could then ship things all across the bay.

She realized, as they walked together, that he seemed to know where she was going. He didn’t walk ahead of her, but he didn’t hesitate and wait for her decision when they came to a crossed path. Rather than head straight towards the town, he knew to skirt around it towards the southern edge. He knew where she lived.

“Mr. Harp, is there any particular reason you know where my home is? I do not entertain guests for a reason.” She said lightly, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. She pushed down the uneasiness in her stomach and waited for his answer.

“You left Montreal three months ago to live in a small trading hub too hedonistic and brutal for a single church. Coincidentally, two rival businessmen and three lead seamstresses across four competing companies have been attacked in the last six months. Three are dead.” He looked down at her. “What are you carrying on you? A pistol? A blade?”

“A pistol.” The conversation kept its air of casualness, but Cat had not been prepared for Harp to know so much about her. She kept her hands clasped lightly in front of her, resisting the urge to finger the gun now that it was the subject of discussion. “I wouldn’t know how to use a knife properly in a fight.”

“One shot will often kill someone in the long run, from internal bleeding or infection, but only slow them down in the moment. You would do best to carry both and use the pistol first, aiming for the torso, then finish with the knife. I’ve seen people be shot three times, run ten miles, and die three days later.”

He was trying to put her off and she would not be so easily unnerved. “I will take your expertise into consideration, Mr. Harp. But you still haven’t answered my question. Why did you take the time to find out where I live?”

“I didn’t. But I know where Clenna Smyth lives, and that you live close enough to spit.” He looked at her to judge her reaction.

The pieces fell together in Cat’s head. Young Clenna was married to a fur trader who was gone as often as not, spending his time in the interior with his employer, but had built his wife a small house on the same street as Cat’s. Clenna had decided to work in her husband’s absence so when Cat had gone to Grace for a recommendation for a maid, Clenna’s name had come up. Cat had brought the girl on though she had never worked as a maid before.

“Would you do me harm, Mr. Harp?” Cat asked out of curiosity. There were many things he could say to that question and all of them would tell her something different about him.

“Not unless you gave me reason to.” They looked at each other when he said it, her green eyes into his mismatched ones, and she believed him.

They were done talking, but he walked with her until she lead him to the tall wooden gate around her property. It was a beautiful patch of forest ten minutes walk from the main part of town with other houses dotted along the road. Hers was the only one with a fence, but for all of that it didn’t stand out.

She opened the back gate and walked through her garden, all beautiful green clovers and wildflowers and two lemon trees, wondering if he would follow. He did to a point, stopping in the middle of her yard.

“Thank you for your time and company, Mr. Harp,” She said. She had stopped on her bottom step a few yards from him but turned completely to face him when she spoke. “I hope we can do great business together. I shall take your advice on the knife. Do you have a recommendation on any local blacksmiths? I don’t know much about weaponry.”

“I’ll see about it.” He said. Cat had no idea what he meant by that, but he was already turning to leave. He had stayed with her longer than she had thought he would, so she let him go.

Inside the house, behind a heavy lock and a deadbolt, Cat found Clenna in the sitting room mending a pillowcase.

“Clenna,” Cat called lightly. “Do you know a Declan Harp?” She could see the hesitation in the girl’s fingertips. They froze mid stitch. She brushed her hand bruskly over the linen to smooth out the wrinkles. Another nervous twitch.

“I’ve heard of him, yes.” The woman’s Irish accent lilted over the words.

Cat wasn’t sure what she had expected. She would have liked loyalty, for Clenna to admit that she knew the man without deception, but the had only worked for Cat for a few months. She had likely known Harp for much longer than that, long enough to know not to admit it without caution.

“He seems to know you.” Cat said. “At least well enough to know where you live.” It was the calmness that betrayed her this time. She was schooling her responses, trying not to give anything away. She really was a terrible liar, starting when she should be still and being still when she should be feigning surprise.

“My husband works with fur traders. Perhaps they have crossed paths.”

“Yes, that must be it. Good night Clenna.”

 

* * *

 

The next day, when Cat opened the back door for Clenna, she found a small package on her stoop. Underneath the cheap paper was a dagger the likes of which she never would have found in a common blacksmiths. The handle was a thin piece of antler, slender and delicate. It was meant for a small grip. The blade was also thin but sharp and double sided. She held it in her hand, felt the weight of it and the potential it had to slide through meat like butter, and felt a warmness in her chest.

 

* * *

 

Harp seemed to pop up after that. She would see him around every week or two in odd places. By the alehouse here, passing the graveyard there. He would always greet her. Sometimes he would stop and speak to her for a few minutes, at first about business and then about other things. Three times he walked her to her back gate and once, when she passed him leaving the Smyth’s house, he walked her out to her favorite stone bench.

He was an odd man to get to know. Every time she saw him, she made an effort to learn one more thing about him. The first time he made a joke, it took her completely by surprise.

Two days before, Cat had walked in on a gathering of Redcoats in the alehouse. They had been in the middle of toasting each other’s long lives. Cat turned and walked out without a second of hesitation.

“You’d think they would have learned to toast to their deaths.” His eyes wrinkled as he spoke. “They toast to mine at nearly every meal, and yet they’re the ones who drop like flies. Then again, maybe their prayers are the only thing keeping them alive. I’ve seen white men fall down cliffs because a squirrel startled them.”

She cackled and his wrinkles deepened. It was a little thing, but enough that the jokes started coming more frequently and with it a more casual sense of friendship. His humor was dry as bone and painfully sardonic. Cat wondered if he would mind the term ‘friend’, or like it, or even care at all.

She also felt the shift in her companionship with Grace Emberley. She had known Grace for some time even before she had moved to Fort James, but then again so did everyone. She was an interesting one. Cat had a strong liking for her but was far from blind as to the truth of her business. And Cat, for her part both lonely and cautious, decided that she and Grace were friends. And if in that friendship she never mentioned anything that couldn’t be found out easily through other means, then that was that. She had no interest in finding out how deep Grace’s loyalty to her ran.

But after the sixth month in the town and her third month on good terms with Harp, she felt Grace change around her. She became more animated, more volatile, more passionate. Never at Cat and rarely was she truly angry, simply greatly annoyed and releasing it all at once. Sometimes it would be about the Redcoats, or the customers, or sometimes the drunken priest who shambled in to gawk at her girls, but usually it would be Harp. The man infuriated her to no end. The new Captain who had been in charge of His Majesty's armed forces in and around Fort James for the last year was far from friendly with Harp, but he understood the importance of keeping the peace. Captain Freeman made clear his desire to stay out of the feuds between the companies but that any attacks involving civilians would be met with severe recrimination. Harp was aggressive in his business but maintained a strong personal code, which he enforced across the board. He was more than strong and terrifying enough to keep the other fur traders in line as well. This gave him a certain level of safety and security that he had never had before. Rather than take the comfort this afforded him, he pushed harder to expand and purposefully put himself in dangerous situations and Grace hated him for it. To listen to her rave one would think that she wanted him dead, but underneath it was her deep, undying love for the man who was her nearest and dearest friend.

When alone, when she could put out the thought that she paid Clenna for her time, or that Grace might sell any secret worth speaking aloud, or that Harp was a businessman and she was a customer, Cat counted herself as having three friends.

 

* * *

 

The day after a ship left port was almost always a slow day at the alehouse. Cat would often head there when she wasn’t busy to sit in the back with Grace and talk. It was one of these days, when Cat had been in Fort James for near nine months and the harbor was mostly empty and the sun was shining and she felt happy enough to be at peace, that everything went wrong. She was walking near the waterfront on her way when she ran into Michael. She had met the boy twice, once when he walked Clenna to work and she had introduced him as her husband and again when he had been walking with Harp, who had introduced him as a man in his employ. Michael started when he saw her and rushed over.

“Mrs. Loring.” He said. “I’ve a message for you. Mr. Harp is at the alehouse. He says he has something for you. Important letter or some such.”

“Oh.” Cat said, holding in most of her surprise.She received letters from the incoming ships on occasion, but most of her correspondences came to her by way of currier from her lawyer in Montreal with her business accounts. She could think of no good reason why Harp might have one for her.

“He’s in the back room. Just go right in the back door and you’ll see him. My wife, is she at your house?”

“Yes, she is.”

Michael ran off without so much as a goodbye or an offer to escort her. She would have turned him down as she generally found him to be annoying, but his manners were dreadful. He had looked odd, though. Overly jittery and eager to be away from her.

She hurried onwards, the early fall sun warm on her skin and adding to her flush. At the back door she knocked twice and didn’t wait for an answer before opening it. Cat glanced the scene over, taking in Harp’s jacket on the back of a chair, the man himself sprawled in a seat that could barely fit him, Mary cutting vegetables across from him.

“Well that was quick.” Mary said. She got up and gathered all of the potato peels in her hands.

“I was on my way here when I ran into Michael. He said you had a letter for me?” There was fear in her voice. She crushed it. Mary left to dump the peels outside and didn’t come back.

“Yes. It’s from your lawyer.” He pulled out a oiled skin folder from his overcoat and handed it to her.

“Why would Slater give you a letter for me?” She said as she took it from him. Inside, nice and safe, was a letter of thick paper and an unbroken seal. It was Slater’s hand, so she had little question of it’s authenticity.

“Sit down, Caitlyn.” He had never called her by her first name before. Only Grace had addressed her so informally since her husband's death. His voice was measured. Kind. he knew something. Cat sat down where Mary had been and broke the wax. There was a distance in his eyes that felt like pity.

By the second paragraph any questions she had about it’s legitimacy were put to rest. Slater spoke of things that only he or someone else equally in her trust might know. Specifically, he spoke of the great losses her business had suffered in a devastating fire. The authorities believed it to be arson, having found wool soaked in oil placed around the building as well as evidence of the three doors being bound shut. The evidence was in a distinctive break in the char marks around the handles where rope was placed and then removed, as well as in the burned corpses of six women piled against the heavy front door.

Cat choked back bile.

It had been in the middle of the day. All but one of her workers had been in the shop. Six women dead.

“How did you come to be in possession of this letter, Mr. Harp.” Her voice sounded weak even to her own ears.

“One of my people was dropping off your delivery of furs. She saw the ruin and asked around. Your Slater had a representative there directing the salvage. He provided the address for the office. I went to see him myself. He asked that I give you that so you could know as soon as possible.” He spoke gently. It made her ears hurt.

“Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Harp.” She said in that strange frail voice that wasn’t hers. She wasn’t sure how she left, only that she passed Mary and Grace on her way out. She rushed passed them so that they wouldn’t speak to her.

She was in her garden next, on her knees before her favorite lemon tree. There had been no walk back, no transition from one place to the other. Her fingers ripped at the grass, digging into the dirt underneath, coating her hands in the damp black of it as her lungs choked on air.

Ann, the middle aged woman that Cat had left in charge while she was away. Her late husband had been a bookkeeper but was never half as smart as his wife.

Gertrude, who had just gotten engaged and was saving towards her new life.

Caroline, who was painfully shy and almost never said a word.

Nancy, barely more than a girl and so like Cat’s sister Margaret that Cat couldn’t turn her away from a job.

Jane the young bitter one and Jane the elderly funny one.

Cecil had been home sick. Ann had mentioned in a previous letter that the woman might be pregnant. If Cat was going to find relief that she had survived, it had yet to come. Instead, her chest burned and her throat tore as she wailed into her fistfuls of dirty grass.

 _It wasn’t just the lives that she had lost, though,_ a little thought popped up. She burned it out of her brain, but it came back. _It wasn’t just the lives that were lost, it was everything._

When Caitlyn Loring had first come ashore in the Canada’s, she was barely eighteen and eight months married to a man older than her father. She was barely more than a girl, still trying to figure out her importance in her new husband’s life and, hoping for some sort of measurable answer, persuaded Joshua to buy a two story house in a large part of the city for no reason than because she asked him to. The first floor was turned into a workspace for their business while the second was their living quarters. It was a beautiful home and it was hers. It was from that house that they created their company. Every bolt of silk, linen, and cotton, every measuring tape and bodice form, every single pin that made up her livelihood was smoldering in a pile of ashes. Her move to Fort James was never supposed to be permanent. Only a few of the things there were her own, the rest had come with the house when she had bought it.

 _They are dead,_ she thought, shoving the feelings about her own life down, down, down. _Other things to think about._

 

* * *

 

When she went inside, dress grass stained and dirt up to her elbows, she was unsurprised to find the house empty. She kept a slate by the kitchen door. Clenna had written a note in her mess of a scrawl that she had finished the housework and hoped that Cat wouldn’t mind her spending the day with her husband.

There was a basin of tepid water on the kitchen counter and Cat washed her hands. She had little hope of getting the dirt out from under her fingernails, but it was nice to get them at least a little clean. The dress came off when she was barely halfway up the stairs, pooling at her feet. She stepped out of it and continued on to her bedroom. Her room, which faced east, was nearly dark. There was a single oil lamp burning in the hallway and she used it to light the lamp next to her bed. She set the lamp next to her dressing table letting the light reflect in the mirror. Her dressing robe was lying at the foot of her bed and she put it on over her dirty shift, not bothering to change into her night dress.

A knock reverberated through the house as she tied the belt. Grabbing the hallway lamp again, she snatched her knife from the heap of clothes as she walked downstairs. Her front door had a bell, but she checked the empty stoop anyways before heading to the back. The knife was help tightly in her hand until she saw the hulking shadow in the dusk light through the curtain. Fort James only had one man that large. If she should feel surprise that Declan Harp came to see her at twilight, she was numb to it.

Cat opened the door and tried for her usual glowing smile, but she knew she fell short. “Mr. Harp. Won’t you come in?” She moved aside before he could answer. He looked hesitant but stepped over the threshold anyways. The once over he gave her was polite, careful not to linger in any one place too long before his eyes returned to her face. She didn’t need a mirror to know what he saw. Crying had always made her ugly. Once, when she was sixteen, weak and stupid and young, she had hoped that that trait might save her. It had taken another marriage and an entire ocean to do that.

“Can I get you something to drink?” For a moment she imagined what her father would think of her answering her own doors and fetching drinks for visitors, on the brink of ruin after one fire.

“Whiskey, if you have it.” He surprised her with an actual answer. He meant to stay for more than a minute or two, then. She did actually have whiskey, as it happened. Slater had sent her a bottle of scotch as a gift to celebrate the end of her long legal troubles. It had sat for five months with barely a few glasses missing from it. Cat generally prefered sherry. She poured him a generous amount and set it down at her kitchen table, taking the chair opposite. Harp sat down too, but didn’t take off his jacket.

“It occurs to me,” He started carefully, “that you will need to return to Montreal. The trip can be dangerous, I’m sure you know. Do you have reliable transportation?”

“No. I’m sure I could pay one of the traders to take me with them. When I first came here it was by boat, but there aren’t any in the bay bound that way.”

“A trader or group of traders is far safer than trying to going it alone, but it’s still risky. You never know if they might decide that the payout would be better to slit your throat.” He fingered the glass, rolling the whiskey here and there in the lamplight.

“Are you worried for me, Mr. Harp?” Her smile was small this time, but genuine.

“Yes. And you’re worried too. My company is moving supplies through the area. We can take you with us. It would be a hard trip with a detour or two, but it would be safer than any other option.”

She picked at the dirt under her thumbnail while she thought. “When would you leave?”

“Four days. Three days of walking each way, plus three days in Montreal, and we would be back in just under two weeks. Unless you need to stay longer. There’s another month or two of the season before the bay freezes over, if you wanted to take a ship back.” His thumb glided over the lip of the glass, the raised callus catching it slightly. He had to know that there was a chance she wasn’t coming back, even if he didn’t say it.

“I suppose that that would depend on what I find in Montreal.” She said quietly. He nodded and took a drink. “I would be glad of your assistance, Mr. Harp. Tell me, what it the going rate for this sort of escort?”

“None. You have other things to worry about.”

“I’m not a charity case, Mr. Harp.”

“I’m not offering charity. If you’d needed to go to Montreal last week, I would’ve offered the same thing.”

Cat’s pride didn’t want to let her believe him, but she did. Neither of them had ever uttered the word ‘friend’ out loud, but it felt true.

“Where should I meet you?”

“There’s a clearing two miles west where we usually meet. Michael can meet you here at dawn on Sunday to show you the way.”

“That would be very helpful. Thank you.” Cat had to crush her desire to reject Michael’s - or even Harp’s - escort. Being too proud to accept help had gotten her in terrible situations before and she was determined not to let her inflict that on herself again. Now, when she wasn’t certain of anything except her pride, she felt herself cling to it in a way that she hadn’t since she was young. She could taste the stubbornness on her tongue and she had to swallow it down.

Harp drank the rest of his scotch and stood. “I’ll see you in four days, Mrs. Loring.”

She walked him to the door, smiling as best as she could manage. She felt the numbness seep back in as she locked the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

The four days passed quickly. Clenna came in the morning after as if nothing had happened, but she knew, Cat was sure of it. She got to work scrubbing the grass stain out of Cat’s dress without comment. Cat sat next to her in the garden mending a glove that she would need come winter. She told the other woman that she was no longer certain that she could afford her services as plainly as she could, and that she would bare no offense if she looked for another job while Cat was away. Clenna was vague in her response and Cat had no idea if the woman would be waiting for her return.

Cat bought a leather pack off a drunk frenchman and cut the straps down to fit her small frame. She packed one of her nicer dresses and a bodice for when she reached the city and planned to wear the grass stained one for the trip itself. Clenna had scrubbed for an hour but the off color green patch remained. Cat also packed a handful of valuables, mostly jewelry to be sold should she need the money, more than half of the cash she had on hand, and her business ledger. She cross checked all of the numbers with those in various letters she had received from both Ann and Slater so that she would be able to calculate her losses as accurately as possible. Lastly, she brought her wool overcoat to sleep with. Her pistol she left. She only had a few rounds worth of saltpeter and balls, and transporting them would be difficult. Besides, if she wasn’t safe with Harp and his lot, then there was nothing else a pistol would do.

Grace stopped by twice, once with a bottle of contraband sherry and again to make sure Cat wasn’t missing anything for the journey. Cat didn’t ask how she knew where she lived. She wasn’t sure it mattered anymore. The scotswoman checked over Cat’s pack before adding a few extra pairs of socks and a second handkerchief. They spent a few hours in each other’s company before Grace went back to her alehouse.

The night before they departed, Cat sat up by herself drinking sherry and folding and refolding her socks. She eventually fell into a fitful sleep and woke to a bright moon outside her window. Her lamp was burning low so she knew dawn couldn’t be far away. She sat in her kitchen picking at the loaf of bread that Clenna had made the day before to take with. She also had some smoked meats and a few early apples. She watched out her window as the sky changed, waiting.

She could see the lad as he walked out of his front door. Clenna was with him. Cat met them as they approached her house, locking the door behind her. When they set off, she did not look back.

 

* * *

 

The clearing where they met was outside of the town but not by much. It was a few hundred feet off of the road, just enough to not be stumbled upon by accident. Harp and a half dozen men lounged around, leaning against trees or on rocks. Harp looked up when he heard them approach and waved them over.

“Second to last here. Have you eaten yet?” He said looking at Cat.

“Some.”

He handed her a very small haunch of meat still on the bone. Cat wondered what kind of rodent it had come from but ate it without question. It was still warm.

“We’re waiting on Sokanon?” Michael asked. Harp nodded. “She isn’t usually late.”

“I saw her last night at Grace’s. She seemed to be having a late night. I wouldn’t be surprised if she overslept a bit.” There was a crinkle in his eyes when he said it. Clenna snorted.

“Should I run to fetch her?” She asked, her accent extra thick in her early morning fog.

“That’s not necessary.” Harp said, nodding behind them.

Cat turned to see Grace and a Native woman walk through the trees. Harp stood up and called out to them.

“We were just getting ready to leave without you.” He said it harshly, but Cat had come to know him well enough to see the humor behind his words. He was comfortable with this woman.

“What a shame that would be.” The woman, Sokanon, said. Her tone was as dry as his. “You know how much I would hate to be left behind.”

Michael, Clenna, and Grace laughed at some joke that Cat didn’t understand.

Farewells were quick after that. Michael and Clenna shared a chaste goodbye kiss while Grace embraced first Sokanon, then Harp, then Cat. When they set out, Harp took the lead followed by the men that Cat didn’t know, then Cat herself and Sokanon, then Michael in the rear.

The Native woman glanced at Cat every so often, but didn’t speak much. Cat, for all that she had never met this woman before, was glad that she wasn’t the only female among the group. The woman walked like a panther, soft and sure and quick. She carried a strung bow over her shoulder and a full quiver at her hip. Eventually she spoke.

“Declan said that you owned the place that burned down.” She was the only person besides Grace that Cat had ever heard call him by his first name.

“I was, yes.” Cat said. “The women who died were dear to me.”

Sokanon looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry.” That was the end of their conversation.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the first morning was spent in silence. Cat began to feel the ache after an hour, but she didn’t mention it. During hour three Michael tapped her on the shoulder and offered her some smoked jerky to keep her strength up. She thanked him politely and ate it. It was soon after hour four that Harp called them to a stop. He, Michael, and half of the men trudged onwards while the other half settled in. One went to find water while the other two slunk into the greenery in search of rabbits, squirrels, or anything else that could make a quick meal. That left Sokanon and Cat alone. The other woman went about starting a fire. Cat wanted to offer to help, but she knew she would just get in the way, so she picked up sticks that felt dry enough to burn. Sokanon kept glancing at her, though, until Cat decided to hold her gaze and keep it.

“You should take your shoes off.” She said.

“My feet are fine.” Cat tried not to be defensive.

“No, they aren’t.” Sokanon said. “I’ve made this trip a hundred times. No one is fine the first time. Michael almost died from exhaustion, and he wasn’t the worst. It would be best to lay on your back and stretch your legs up a tree, but you European women are so protective of your skirts.” There was a teasing quality of her tone that reminded Cat of Harp.

“Thank you for your advice.” _Do not be prideful._ She moved to the ground to do as had been suggested. Her drawers were pressed against the rough bark of exposed roots.

They sat in silence for a bit before Sokanon spoke again. “I was the one who went to your company.” Cat hummed to acknowledge she had heard. “What do you plan on doing?”

“I don’t know.” Cat said honestly. “There are options, but none of them good. It depends on what I have left. I could try to rebuild. I could return to England.” Her thoughts were far away.

“You could remarry.” Sokanon said. “A rich husband could provide.”

Cat could feel the test behind the words, even if she could no longer look at the other woman. She wanted to figure out what kind of person Caitlyn was. Cat took a minute to answer, letting her hand drift over the cotton on her stomach before letting the words out.

“I’ve done that before. Not because of the money, but the same general thing. I was young and stupid and weak. I let myself fall into a situation that I couldn’t get out of. My husband saved me. He brought me here, gave me a life I never would have been able to reach on my own, asking for nothing in return but to look pretty and take care of him in his old age. At the time, it was the right choice. I would rather die than do it again.” Cat still couldn’t see Sokanon, didn’t move to try. The English were rarely completely honest and Cat found that she could often use it to startle other’s enough to throw them off. There was silence after she spoke. She thought that perhaps the conversation was over and done now.

“You were pregnant.” Sokanon guessed.

“No. God, no. With Wilfred’s child, I might have killed myself. No, I had a cousin. Or have, I suppose. Last I heard, Wil was still missing. He was twenty four when it started. I was fifteen. He thought I was perfect, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. It was flattering at first, until one day it wasn’t. I realized slowly that he scared me. That the way he talked about me, _too_ me, made me sick to my stomach. When he touched me, it made my skin crawl. It wasn’t any one thing in particular, just, him. I couldn’t talk to anyone, couldn’t say a word, couldn’t ask for help. I had _encouraged_ him. I was too proud to admit how scared I was. I decided to tell him that I loved him too much as a cousin to marry him. I thought he was going to kill me that day. Two days later, I was in bed recovering from my _terrible_ fall when he came in and told me that he could forgive me for saying things that I didn’t mean. That he would take my cousinly love and turn it into wifly love. Three months later I married Joshua. Six months after that, we set sail for Montreal. Wilfred joined the army and sent me a letter saying that he would be stationed here as soon as he had the seniority to request stations. He went missing soon after.”

“He was a madman.” Cat could almost hear Sokanon absorbing the story.

“Simply put, yes.”

“Perhaps you will be lucky. Perhaps he is still alive. Perhaps you will see him again. Perhaps you will get to kill him yourself.”

The laugh that sprung from Cat’s throat surprised her. “I would like that, I think. But I’m not much of a fighter. I’ve never had an opportunity to learn.”

Sokanon moved into her line of sight, standing over her. Her face was thoughtful. “Get up.” Cat pulled her feet down and rolled onto her side before sitting up. “I know you carry a knife.” She held out her hand and Cat handed over her small blade. Sokanon looked it over before handing it back. Then she pulled out her own and gave Cat the opportunity. Cat decided that she liked this woman.

 

* * *

 

The foragers trickled back in after an hour or so. There was four squirrels and a single rabbit as well as a handful of root vegetables between them. Sokanon snagged two of the squirrels and showed Cat how to clean it step by step. Soon there was a stew boiling while Cat wandered off to the stream they had found to wash the blood off. She was drying her hands on her skirt when Harp spoke.

“I didn’t think I would have to warn you about wandering off.” His voice came from up the stream. Cat felt her entire body tense then relax as she was in turn startled then relieved when she recognized his deep, gravelly tone.

“I’m barely out of sight of the rest. I know the way back.” She looked over at him leisurely, certain that he had surprised her on purpose and trying to not give him the satisfaction of knowing that he had succeeded. He stood fifteen feet from her, leaning back against a tree that didn’t look capable of taking his weight. She hadn’t heard him approach, but she was certain that he hadn’t been there long.

“I’ve learned never to underestimate a European’s ability to get lost. Clenna was missing for almost a day once. She hasn’t come out here since.”

Cat laughed. She felt, sitting there under the filtered sun, moss and soft leaves and green things pushing up between her toes, that she could understand the love that Harp and his people had for their land.

“Well, if you don’t trust me not to get lost, I guess you’ll just have to walk with me.” There was a grin in her voice as she turned away from him, not checking to see if he followed.

 

* * *

 

Declan caught up to Cat in seconds. They walked next to each other and didn’t bother to hide the glances they gave the other every few steps. There was a stillness about her that felt out of place. Harp had no trouble figuring out that it was fear that subdued her. Her emotions were like armor to her, always intense and powerful and visible. To see her without the frenetic energy that buzzed around her was unsettling. Most days, her smile was a weapon and she knew it.

That was the heart of what he admired about her. She had so few means of retaining power or control so she had learned to manipulate nearly everyone around her with her passion. There was no doubt in his mind that it was purposeful, deliberate engineering. It had taken him far too long to realise it, too.

When he had first met her, he had just been welcomed into a meeting with Joshua Loring. The young, beautiful woman sitting at the end of the table he took to be the man’s secretary. She had spent the entire meeting sitting quietly while taking dictations and providing documents when requested. Declan wondered if the girl was a young niece or perhaps grandchild until the end of the meeting when she stood up to shake his hand after her husband. He was surprised, but dismissed it as being one of the sicknesses of the Europeans, with old men marrying girls barely out of childhood. Knowing her as he did now, he wondered how much she hated the role she had played, and how much she hated her husband that she still spoke fondly of for putting her in it.

Then he heard about Mr. Loring’s death. The first letter from his widow wasn’t much of a surprise. It was polite and showed that whatever else she was, she wasn’t reckless. The second letter, sent through Grace no less, showed she still held some ambitions. Declan was bored and curious, and Grace spoke well of the woman, so he took the time to meet her. After walking Mrs. Loring home that evening, Declan had thought that he had a measure for her. She was bubbly, optimistic, and clever. Six months later, he still believed all of those things, but had a much better understanding of how deep those traits ran. Every single laugh, every single smile, every twinkle in her eye was so genuine and free that it was nearly impossible to notice the calculation behind it. To engineer someone else’s affections for her, to manipulate someone with kindness, was wholly impressive. Even more so was the fact that even after he noticed, after he realized how she knew how to twist the joys of other people around her, bind them up with her own and make them crave pleasing her, he wasn't immune. He wanted to make her smile. He wanted to make her happy. She was a hearth; the more you fueled her, the more warmth and light you got in return.

The disaster in her business had been a bucket of water haphazardly thrown over that hearth. The embers were still there, but the fire was gone.

As they walked back to the others, Declan knew that there was nothing else he could do for her. There was no telling what waited for her in Montreal, but if there was any way to rebuild, Caitlyn would find it.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the trip was uneventful. The lot of them continued on as they had started, only now with several heavy packs distributed among them. Cat didn’t ask what was in them. It wasn’t her business. She was hopeful that she had successfully endeared Sokanon to her. She was far from talkative, but she had taken to pointing out plants that she thought Cat ought to know. Often there were wild vegetables or fruit bushes or leafy greens, but she also showed her a few poisonous ones to avoid. They also practised knife fighting in the mornings, though Cat was slow to learn it and weaker than Sokanon wanted her to be. The other woman showed her exercises to do to increase her strength and Cat took to them with enthusiasm, even if she could barely perform the most basic ones.

These were Cat’s only conversations for the rest of the trip. Harp and Michael were gone as often as not and she had no interest in trying to win over the other men. It would take energy and effort that she just didn’t have.

The morning that they were to reach Montreal, Cat asked Sokanon if she knew anything about finding and hiring body guards, and if so, would she be willing to assist Cat? It was in part a genuine question, but Cat was also curious as to how far out of her way the other woman would go to help her. She was pleased when Sokanon scoffed at the idea of hiring a stranger and said that she would escort her herself. Cat considered this to be a sign of the beginnings of a good friendship.

The group split when they passed into the town, the women going one way and the men going another. Harp had briefly offered one of his men to accompany them, but both Cat and Sokanon turned him down. His eyes, she noticed, did not crinkle when he spoke to her in front of his men. She understood and was not upset by the distance he put between them.

Their first stop was Slater’s office. It was early afternoon, so he should be in. Cat walked through his door in a soiled three day old dress and dirt up to her knees, an armed Native woman by her side, and asked the receptionist politely if Mr. Slater was in. The man was out of his seat in seconds. Mr. Slater came to greet her himself. He was tall and meaty and jovial. She was glad to see him again.

After greetings and introductions, Cat asked for Slater’s recommendations on an inn for herself and her friend. As expected, Slater insisted that they stay with him and his wife. Cat hadn’t been sure if he would automatically extend the invitation to Sokanon or whether she would have to reemphasize that Sokanon was helping to keep her safe. She was glad that Slater hadn’t been rude.

Cat thanked him kindly, drank the tea he offered, and left with her companion and the twitchy receptionist to lead the way. Slater promised to finish up his work and be home by dinner, giving them enough time to bathe and settle in.

The Slater house was large and comfortable. A maid opened the door, quickly overcame her shock, and welcomed them into the sitting room. Mrs. Slater, a tiny mousy woman who was sharper than a sword, was with them in less than a minute. She hugged them both, to Sokanon’s surprise, fed them more tea and a few biscuits while a hot bath was prepared, and then set them off to get clean.

The tub was big enough to fit both of them sitting and to wait for a second bath to be prepared would make them late for dinner, so they took off their clothes and didn’t think twice about it. It felt nice to touch someone else, even if it was just washing another woman’s back. When they were dry, Cat put on her clean dress and set about braiding Sokanon’s loose hair.

“What is your plan from here?” She asked while Cat finger combed her ends.

“I need to know what I have left. There is some money tucked away in the bank, but not enough to start from scratch. Once I know what survived the fire, I can figure out what I’ll need to rebuild.”

“If you can do it, will you? The man who did it is still on the loose.”

Cat nodded even though Sokanon couldn’t see it. “It would be stupid to sink resources into something that will just be sabotaged again.”

“Declan didn’t ask you where you plan on living, but I will.”

“Montreal would be easier. More opportunities, more possibilities. But I don’t want to be here. Fort James was the first place to feel like a home since I was young. But I can’t make a decision because of a warm, fuzzy feeling.”

“He wants you to return. It would be difficult to see you here. Grace and Clenna would be sorry to see you go.”

“Declan Harp is a hard man to read. You know him very well.” Unspoken questions hung in the air.

“I call him brother. He calls me sister. There is no blood between us, though. Not anymore. My sister was his wife. I was just leaving childhood when they were married. My father was too old to teach me the ways of a warrior, so Declan took me under his wing. I was with him when we found their bodies. I know very well what kind of man he is.”

Cat didn’t need to ask for more of the story. Everyone knew of how the Redcoats had hunted and murdered his wife and son for sport, slaughtering dozens of others in the process. Both she and Sokanon were choosing their words carefully now. “And what kind of man is that?”

“A man who is rarely refused when asking for something, even if it isn’t freely given.”

Cat suddenly wasn’t sure of where the conversation was going. Sokanon was clearly the closest thing to family that Harp had, and her thoughts mattered more than Cat would like to admit. She was saved by the maid knocking on the door to announce dinner.

Dinner was a benign affair, followed by a move to the sitting room to discuss Cat’s affairs. Five of the six funerals had already taken place, with the last being the next morning. The costs of each had been noted.

Slater had done his best to record as much information about her remaining properties as possible. The building was severely damaged and trying to repair it would be nearly as difficult as simply tearing it down and starting over. Even the foundation had been scorched. That being said, a great deal of the materials could be salvaged, either to be reused in reconstruction or sold. Most of the metalwork as well as a good deal of trim and glass was in fine condition. The fire had been concentrated on the outside of the building and mostly on the south side, where the workshop was located. The storage room on the west side suffered severe smoke damage, but the bolts of cloth could be washed, redyed, and sold for a discounted price. They couldn’t be used for the types of clients that Cat usually had, but middle or lower class people would be happy wearing slightly damaged silks.

As far as her personal items were concerned, nearly all of her valuables had survived. Most of the items on the second floor had smoke damage to a varying degree, but very little was ruined. For the first time since she had read the letter, Cat started to believe that she would be able to rebuild. Slater brought out catalogues of her wares that his assistant had made. Cat was so engrossed that she nearly missed Sokanon turn down the drink she was offered and stand up.

“I should go to see my brother.” She said.

“Oh.” Mrs. Slater showed polite disappointment. “But you will be staying here tonight, won’t you?”

Sokanon glanced at Cat before nodding. “I will be back soon.”

“And you’ll be just fine finding your way? We’ll leave the porchlight lit for you.” Mrs. Slater said.

“I know Montreal well. And thank you.” Sokanon said stiffly, like the social norms of Europeans made her uncomfortable.

Cat gave her a quick goodbye before returning to her papers. They were a nearly complete list of everything in her house, as well as a comment on what condition it was in. she knew off the top of her head how much any of it was worth new and she could make estimates as for it’s damaged worth. She started adding as she went, trying to figure out how much it would cost her to get up and running again.

 _Or how much she could walk away with._ The thought surprised her. She pulled back from the papers. Her business had always serviced the highest class clients. Her singed and tarnished fabrics would have to be sold, there was no question. If she had to go through all of the trouble of liquidating her assets, what was to stop her from going all the way? It would take years of work to recover, years that would confine her to Montreal. She had loved her business with all her heart because it had been hers, but she had a passing interest in fashion as a whole. She could do something, anything, else. _She could stay in Fort James._

“Mrs. Loring?” Slater leaned forward.

“Has anyone made inquiries about buying the damaged goods yet?”

“Several people. I have a list.”

“I think I shall like to see that list. If possible, I’ll spend tomorrow deciding what to keep and what to sell. I’ll host an auction for the rest on the day after next.”

“So quickly?” Mrs. Slater interjected.

Cat ran a quick timeline in her head. It was Wednesday evening. Harp intended to set out on Saturday and she hoped to go with him. If not, then she would be in Montreal until at least Monday, if not later. Ships rarely left port on a Sunday and even then, and there were fewer this time of year. It was only fall, and unusually mild, but the weather has been known to turn quickly this far north.

“If I can manage it, yes. Sokanon and I are planning on leaving on Saturday unless it can’t be helped.”

“You might get more money if you waited. Send out the letters, give a few days for the other companies to gather money together, then hold the auction in a week or two.” The older woman said.

“Not necessarily. If everything were to be sold as one lot, that would be true, but it you sell the bolts of fabric individually or in small groups, most companies can round up money enough for that at short notice. My advice would be to sell everything that can be carried out in small sets and then the house itself and all the attachments as one to some tradesman.” Slater countered.

Mrs. Slater nodded. “You might have to lower the price out of inconvenience, but it would save you having to hire someone to remove everything. That’s not a bad plan. Then, when he’s done tearing it apart, you can rebuild from scratch.”

Cat nodded to what they were saying, but she was already thinking about how much the land might be worth.

“We’ll send out the invitations tomorrow. If they have the money, then they can leave with the goods on Friday. If not, then the goods can be held until the money can be rounded up and then sent on to me with the money for the house, which I expect will take more than a few days to find finance for.” Cat said. “May I borrow a pen?”

Mr. Slater fetched her a pen. The rest of the evening was spent writing down the expected prices for everything. Cat had a good head for numbers, but she couldn’t keep that many straight for three days without writing down at least some of it. Sokanon returned as Mr. and Mrs. Slater were heading to bed. The maid, already in a nightdress, showed them to their rooms.

Cat stayed up a bit longer, though, writing out personalized letters to all four inquirers as well as another four generic invitations that might be delivered to anyone. Finally, she crawled into bed in a borrowed nightgown and fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

Cat and Sokanon set out immediately after breakfast the next morning. Mr. Slater had promised to have the letters delivered by one of his assistants so that Cat wouldn’t have to worry about finding a reliable currier.

Nancy’s funeral was to take place at nine that morning. Cat was just in time to greet the family before it began. She saw Cecil in the back of the crowd with a young man by her side and a ring on her finger. When all was over and the body was in the ground, Cat went looking for the other woman but she was already gone.

No one seemed to recognize Cat and she didn’t want to make a spectacle by announcing herself, so she left. She tried to think of the girl Nancy’s smile, her laugh, her strawberry blonde ringlets that fell down to her waist. Instead she thought of ash and bone and dust. Sokanon linked arms with her as they walked away.

On their way to the ruin of Cat’s house, they took a detour through a market. The stalls were packed with imports, exports, raw goods, and novelties. Cat looked at prices and how plentiful they were. It wouldn’t do to try and break into an industry that was flush with cheap merchandise and not enough demand.

Cat was glancing over clothing materials just to reaffirm the prices that she already held in her head when her eyes fell on lace. In the Canada’s, where fur was plentiful and lace was rare, it was very favorable. Women liked to put it on anything. The price of it made it exclusive. There wasn’t much of a lace industry in Montreal, so the real Italian lace was imported and subject to all kinds of taxation. It wasn’t difficult to make, but very few of the locals had the skill. Cat was one of those few. She had learned it as a child from her French governess and kept up the skill until her voyage. She was sure she could pick it up again. Judging from the market prices, it wouldn’t be hard to turn a profit. She had always loved lacemaking. The art of making something as delicate and beautiful as lace appealed to her in ways that dressmaking hadn’t. Besides, she could repurpose many of the required materials from things that she already had. It would cost her nearly nothing to start down this road.

 

* * *

 

The outside of Cat’s house was blackened and turning to dust in the light breeze. The wood was burned so deeply that wind pushed through to the inside of the house. Crossing the threshold for the first time in nearly nine months was disquieting. It was already close to noon, though, so she didn’t have much time to spare. First she and Sokanon pulled out one of the two trunks still in the attic. She started with the things she couldn’t bare to leave behind. First went her books, then charcoal drawings of each of her four siblings. Next a set of early sketches done by Margaret when she was just discovering her talent, which included a few depictions of her nieces, the two daughters of Cat’s eldest sister Emma. Letters went after that, then other gifts from her family. Cat started a second, smaller pile of things that had no emotional importance but could be sold for good money. It was primarily jewelry given to her by Joshua.

Next went her clothing. She just threw what would fit into the trunk and closed the lid. There was still room to spare.

The stairway was tight, but the two women managed to get it to the ground floor. Lastly, Cat tossed in a few piles of pins, some bobbins, and every spool of undamaged silk thread that she could find.

Next came dealing with the materials for sale. There wasn’t much to be done for them beyond brushing off ash and double checking her catalogue with her physical inventory. Even so, it took no small amount of time and it was past dusk when they left and full dark when they arrived at the Slater’s house.

The Slater’s were just sitting down to dinner when Cat and Sokanon came in. Two more places were quickly set and Cat launched into how the day had been spent. She was still sad, still hurting over the women’s deaths, but she was excited too and, if she was being fully honest, the ability to start over brought a joy that she wouldn’t have expected. They had just moved to the sitting room when the maid came in.

“There’s a Mr. Harp here to see his sister and Mrs. Loring.” She said. She was quite good at hiding her nervousness.

“He’s here?” Cat was more than a little surprised. “I’ll be right back.” She hopped up and brushed past the maid to run to the room she was staying in. She came down a minute later with her ledger clutched in her arms. Harp stood just inside the door to the sitting room, coat still on though Cat was sure the maid had asked to take it.

“Can I offer you something to drink, Mr. Harp?” Mrs. Slater’s voice carried into the hallway.

“Mr. Harp drinks whiskey.” Cat announced from behind him. He turned to her, moving out of the way as he did. Cat could see the moment he saw her from the easing of the tightness in the corners of his eyes, the crease in his forehead, and the way he held his jaw. He had been raised among Europeans, and even called a few of them friends, but he wasn’t fond of them as a whole. No doubt he did not enjoy the idea of making small talk with two that he had only met once before.

“A whiskey it is, then.” Said Mrs. Slater. She met Cat’s eyes before pouring the drink and handing it to Harp. She was quick to catch on.

“Thank you.” He said.

“You are most welcome. Please, do sit down. You’re making me feel terribly rude.” The older woman said. Cat took the spot on the sofa next to Sokanon and Harp sat in the chair opposite while Mr. Slater sat by the hearth and Mrs. Slater took the chair in between.

“How goes your business with Grant?” Sokanon asked.

“Predictable.” There was no small amount of annoyance in his tone. “Tell me about your plans.” He said it simply. Cat felt her stomach jump. She smiled at him brightly and began to talk. As she spoke, he leaned closer. When she started in on specific numbers, he pulled his chair forward to look at her ledger. When she mentioned her return to Fort James, his eyes snapped to hers.

“I thought you had deemed production in Fort James impractical from a lack of workforce.” He said. She had only mentioned it to him once in passing four months before.

She looked at him as he looked at her. She wondered, very suddenly, how she could ever have felt doubt about him. She knew how to trick someone into caring about her, but she had never figured out how to trick someone into respecting her. Every word she said he listened to. Every decision she made he accepted. He thought more of her than any man she had ever met, even her own family.

Cat found herself wishing that the old Slater couple would go to bed, that Sokanon might decide to go for an evening hunt. The parlor was much too crowded. She wanted to speak to Harp privately more than she felt like she had ever wanted something in her life. Instead, she answered him.

“Well, there are few enough reliable, unemployed women around the port, that’s true, but workers can always be brought in. With all the violent going-ons here in Montreal, it would almost be preferable. Safer, to some small degree.”

She continued talking and he continued listening. When she went to sleep that night, it was with tingling excitement running just underneath her skin.

 

* * *

 

The next day passed in a blur. She did not remember a great deal of it, though she was sure that she made good decisions with primarily good outcomes. Not as many tradesmen came to look at her house as she would have liked, but the turnout for the goods auction was solid. Most of them had the cash on hand to pay and the rest would be good to their word. At the end of the day, she was a few pounds short of what she would have liked, but the loss wasn’t devastating. Even after taking out Slater’s share, she still had a sizable safety net.

Next she found a captain of good repute heading across the bay, due to leave on Tuesday and stop in Fort James on Wednesday. Cat arranged to have her trunk delivered to Grace’s alehouse. Then she returned to the Slater’s house, ate a peaceful dinner, and went to sleep early.

She came to with a soft hand on her shoulder.

“Caitlyn, Mr. Harp is here to see you.” Mrs. Slater was saying.

Cat’s eyes were open instantly. She stopped just long enough to put her borrowed dressing gown on before rushing downstairs. When she reached the landing, she saw Sokanon walking away from the front door.

“He didn’t want to wake you.” She said. Cat felt her heart sink. “We have a long day tomorrow.” They went upstairs together. Sokanon was right. They were to meet Harp and his men an hour after dawn the next morning. Still, Cat was disappointed.

She laid in bed for nearly an hour before slipping her hand underneath her nightgown until she came gasping with her teeth sunk into a pillow.

She dreamed that night of Joshua. She remembered with perfect clarity one of the last things that he had said to her. They were not the words of a husband to a wife but of an old man, sick and dying, to a young woman. He said to her as she held his hand that she had so much life ahead of her, so much potential, and that he was sorry that he would miss seeing it. Then he laughed a sick, wet laugh and muttered that it was just as well, since every year that he lived was another year of her life stolen.

Cat had always been grateful towards Joshua, even if she had sometimes resented or hated him at the same time. It was as he lay dying that she understood that he had never been fooled by her, try as she might to persuade him that she loved him. No doubt he had known it when she had first set her sights on him at a ball three miles away from her parent’s home with doe eyes and fresh bruises on her ribs. He had married her anyways.

When she woke, her heart felt heavy with loneliness.

 

* * *

 

The trip back went much like the trip to Montreal. Sokanon and Cat walked together, while the men came and went. Sokanon showed Cat a few more exercises and helped her with the ones she already knew. On the second day while lunch was cooking, the woman tried to show Cat how to get out of a hold. Instead, Cat ended up falling into the bushes and getting burrs all over her dress and hair. Sokanon laughed a deep, barking laugh before sending Cat off to clean herself up away from wandering eyes. She shucked her dress and bodice and sat on a rock in her shift to pluck the burrs out of the linen. She heard the footsteps approach and glanced up.

“She said you took a fall.” Harp said. She already knew he could move too quietly for her to notice. He didn’t want her to be surprised by him this time.

“Not much of one. Tell me, do you make a sport of how much noise you make?” She didn’t try to cover herself with her dress. He could see the outline of her plain as day through the thin white cotton.

“Moving quietly in the forest has many advantages. It’s a good habit to be in.” He walked towards her. His eyes were wrinkled in amusement. “You have burrs in your hair.”

“I know. I haven’t a hope of getting them out on my own, though.”

“Here.” He was behind her then, her body twisted all the way around to look at him. His thumb and finger caught her chin and turned her back to the trees and away from him. Then his fingers ran against her scalp, pulling all of her hair to the back of her neck. His hands were gentle but strong and she could feel him pull through the knots. Cat closed her eyes and relaxed into this innocent, intimate gesture. She quickly realized that his hands weren’t acting mindlessly. He was braiding her hair.

When he was done, his hand brushed idly against her neck, leaving gooseflesh in it’s wake. Cat turned into his touch so that his hand was underneath her chin before grabbing it and standing up. He didn’t pull back. Her nose was barely three inches from his shirt before she looked at his face. His breath was even and slow and she fought to match it. She reached out with the hand that wasn’t holding his and touched the scar that ran through his eyebrow and down his face. Cat wondered how he got it. There had to be more, maybe dozens more. Would he tell her about them? Would she even ask? She trailed her fingers over his beautiful face and thought on how many stories he had that would never be spoken again.

There was a noise in the trees and her hand fell away. She slipped on her messy, burr covered dress just as Michael came through the brush.

“Lunch is ready.” He called cheerfully. “Sokanon said you would know when it was time to come back, but the meat cooked quick. Thought I ought to tell you.” The boy was an idiot. A well meaning, well wishing idiot.

Cat and Harp did not speak privately again for the rest of the trip.

 

* * *

 

When Cat walked through her door, she felt relief at being alone for the first time since she left. She had told Michael to ask Clenna to come by the day after next so that they could discuss the future. That gave Cat a day and a half to herself.

She was preparing dinner when there was a knock on the kitchen door. She let Harp in and grabbed him a glass of whiskey while he took off his coat. He sat down across from where she had been and pulled the onion she had been cutting to him.

They talked of little things while the stew cooked. He had taken on a pair of Irish boys, twins who declared themselves twentyone but were most likely seventeen or eighteen. They had heard of a fur trader who was half Irish and hoped that a kinsman might give them a chance. It was a story similar enough to how Michael had come to work for Harp that he was too amused to not accept them. He was not what they had been expecting, to say the least.

They ate as they talked. When they were done, Cat gathered the plates and put them to soak. Harp stood with her.

“Declan.” Cat said. “Will you stay the night?” She watched as surprise flicked across his face before it became distant, then conflicted. She thought first of his wife, then of her husband, then of him. “I’ll take no offense if you say no.”

“I know.” He leaned down. His lips were soft against hers. His hand brushed the hair away from her face. “I’ll stay.” He breathed against her. She didn’t bother trying to smile against his lips as her stomach fluttered with too many emotions to name.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that my main character in this is called Cat, which is also in my account name. My name is not Cat, I just have a really great kitty that I love. I am called Grace (sometimes). This is not a self insert, she's actually a character that I wrote for an original work who I was having trouble flushing out and understanding, so I decided to put her in different situations to see how she would react. This fic got stuck in my head and I decided to write it in hopes that it would help me understand her more. I do love her quite a lot, though.
> 
> That being said, please enjoy. First smut scene I have actually completed and published. Shameless smut. Literally just porn. Would love a comment, if you feel so inclined.

Caitlyn took Declan by the hand and lead him upstairs. He followed her past the spot where her dress had pooled on the day she had read her lawyer's letter, up past the landing, up past the single oil lamp flickering in her hallway. He seemed to take up so much space that the small flickering flame couldn’t get any light past him. Behind him the hall was dark and shadowed, but his face glowed in the light. Cat liked the image of it and tried to keep it in her mind as she turned to open her bedroom.

She had set a fire in her hearth some hours ago and the embers still burned. Cat busied herself with adding more wood to keep her hands occupied. She didn’t want him to see her shake. She didn’t want him to see her fear. She thought on the things her mother had said to her before her wedding. Her older sister Emma, already several years married, had also taken her aside. Their words of advice did not help her here. She was not a maid and he was not her husband.

Cat heard the door shut behind her. With no sound in the room but the crackling logs as they caught fire and the slow creak of his boots on wood, Cat could listen to him approach.

“I don’t know how this is supposed to go.” She admitted, still kneeling by the fireplace.

His hand went to her lower back, an intimate gesture, but modest given the circumstances. He was kneeling behind her. “At all?”

“Not much. A few times. Less than one hand’s worth. He was old. Sickly. Undemanding.” Cat turned to Declan and kissed him again. His mouth tasted like whiskey. Even kneeling he was difficult to reach. She threaded her fingers through his long hair and brought him closer. He, in turn, plucked her from the ground and pulled her to him until she was in his lap. She breathed out a laugh into his lips as he grinned just enough for her to feel it with her own.

“Do you want this?” He asked, eyes closed as his nose rubbed hers.

“Yes. Do you?” She watched as his brow furrowed just a bit, hesitated for barely a second.

“Yes.”

She kissed him again, soft and slow. His hand on the small of her back moved lower to just barely above her waist while the other tangled in her hair and cupped the back of her head. Cat felt her stomach twist and jump. Excitement burned through her fear, leaving her flushed and struggling for breath. It felt like a hot hook had sunken into her gut and pulled out the lust that she had been politely ignoring for six months.

Cat scraped the nails of one hand through his scalp. The other went down his chest, unbuttoning as she went. Soon, she had his shirt open and she could feel his torso as it shifted and flexed against her. His skin was hot underneath hers and he felt like the sun. Cat had a sudden desire to see him fight. His body coiled with pent up strength as he shucked his shirt. What she wouldn’t give to know what that was like unleashed.

The first piece of clothing between them was removed. Cat pulled back to look him over. Everything about him was beautiful. Scars littered his skin and she ran her hand over them, focusing on nothing in particular and trying to get an understanding of him. Many of the scars looked disturbingly deliberate.  _ Stories for another time. _

When Declan put his hands back on her, his right went to gently rub her thigh through her skirts while the left went again to the lacings on her dress. One or two of his fingers - Cat couldn’t tell exactly - slipped under the string, but he didn’t try to undress her yet. She leaned forward, curling into his chest so that he could look down her back.

“It’s easier if you can see what you’re doing.” She whispered into his neck. He took the invitation and started pulling at the ties. The dress fell away and then he was working on the bodice underneath. The stiff fabric tightened around her ribs before it abruptly loosened an inch, then stuck.

“ _ Damnit. _ ” Declan swore. Cat snorted into his chest before pulling far enough away to bite her fist. The string that tied her bodice was in a simple slip knot so that Cat could tie or untie it herself. It was easy to undo. It was also easy to accidentally pull the wrong string and knot it into a mess. Her shoulders shook as the laughter started to seep out. She bit her knuckle harder, but the cackling burst past her lips. Soon she was laughing so hard that she couldn’t breath. She had not expected Declan to not know how to unlace a bodice.

Cat suddenly found herself against the hearth, one hand braced against the brick pillar while the other held onto the mantle. Declan was on his knees pressed against her from behind. She could feel him through his pants. She could also hear the soft slide of steel on leather. Whether her knife or his, she didn’t care as his mouth went to her throat and her blood roared as he bit down. Then his tongue was on the tingling skin as her bodice fell away. The short, inch long pieces of string scattered across the floor.

“That’s one way to solve a problem.” Cat breathed out. He chuckled in her ear before sliding a hand up her calf, under the pooling shift around her knees, and up the outside of her thigh. He stopped a few inches away from her hip, his large hands digging into muscles sore from walking. She leaned back against him and took a few deep, steadying breaths.

Gently, Cat places her hand over his and began to move it. Her stomach lurched as she felt his rough calluses scrap over her soft skin.  _ I want this. _ She repeated inside her head.  _ I will not be stopped by fear. _

She was not afraid of him. She was afraid of disappointing him, or displeasing him, which was very different. She feared that he might realize that he could never love her as she wanted, hurting both of them and ruining not just their friendship but all of Cat’s relationships. That she wasn’t good enough to live up to the memory of his wife.

His fingers made it to her cunt, bringing her back to the present. Cat felt the light scraping of his nails against the soft cotton of her drawers. She turned her face into his neck, let out a long, low, shaking breath, and nodded into his throat. The cotton was pushed aside and a finger circled her clit before two sunk into her. She was wetter than she had ever been for her husband, but there was still a deep stretching feeling.  _ I am not a maid. This should not hurt. _ And it didn’t hurt, not exactly. It burned and stretched and she felt more virginal than she had as an actual virgin.

Declan’s free hand wrapped around her waist, holding her to him. Cat laced her fingers through his over her stomach while rocking into his movements. Another digit - his thumb? It had to be his thumb - flicked at her clit again. Cat’s toes curled underneath her, one catching on the rough fabric of Declan’s pants and the other scraping desperately against the smooth floor.

Her back was still to his chest. She shifted, trying to feel more, and ended up pressed against his dick, first on accident and then purpose. Declan grunted and hauled her back into his lap to hold her tighter and Cat suddenly got a much more thorough idea of what she would be dealing with. To brush against a bulge and to sit directly on top of it, to feel it’s shape pressed into her with only two layers of fabric between them, were very different things. 

Another finger entered her and  _ curled. _ Cat jerked in his arms. She knew that spot existed, had heard of it, had even felt it once when she had sat astride her husband, but her fingers were too small to find it for herself. Instead, when she took care of her own pleasure, her fingers usually kept to the outside of her cunt. It had always been easier for her. Declan clearly did not have the same limitations.

Cat felt it coming just before it hit her, her body tensing and quivering as the back of her head hit his collarbone hard enough to hurt. Her hands dug into his neck and arm, maybe hard enough to leave marks. She didn’t particularly care about either.

Seconds later, as she came back to herself, she realized that she hadn’t looked at Declan’s face since he had started. She looked now, but wasn’t sure what she saw. Firelight flickered across his face and she couldn’t read the shadows. She grabbed his chin in her fingers and pulled him into a kiss, harsh and hungry. He responded in kind, letting her devour him as he had her. She felt his hands skimming up her thighs again, vaguely aware of the wet trail left by one of them. She couldn’t feel him anymore. Too much clothing. She gripped her shift and threw it off, breaking the kiss. She turned to face him on her knees, bare for his eyes.

He raked his gaze over her, taking in her pale pink flesh. His hands hands followed his eyes until his palms reached under her ass and hauled her to him, her cunt pressed against his stomach when her legs wrapped around his hips. She was high very suddenly, the floor several feet away as he stood up. Cat felt like a ragdoll.

Declan set her on the bed gently before taking a step back. Cat wasn’t sure if he did it to get a better view or to make undoing his pants easier.  _ Why not both? _ She decided as his eyes took in every inch of her and his hands worked his buttons. Cat leaned back on one elbow, her body wide and open for the looking with a grin on her face.

Then his pants were down, his feet stepping out of them, and she could look at him like he could look at her. Not for long, though, as he grabbed her ankle and dragged her to the edge of the bed. Cat cackled as he grinned, leaning down to kiss her again. She wondered briefly if this was how he wanted her, on her back with her legs around him as he stood tall and huge, but then he brought his knee up beside her as he climbed on. His leg was underneath hers and his movement brought her knee up to her chest. It was vaguely uncomfortable, but definitely an amusing position.

“Do we have a plan, or are we just going to be rutting into the mattress?” Cat asked, a smile in her light voice.

Declan chuckled into her neck. “Why, what are you thinking?”

Cat’s hand went to his shoulder while her mouth went to just behind his ear. Rather than kiss, she bit down hard and  _ shoved. _ Cat knew she wasn’t strong enough to move him against his will, but he rolled onto his back all the same. She was on him in a second. Her hands went to his chest and there was no give. He was solid under her. Her thighs strained to fit around his hips, which were quite a bit wider than hers, and it brought her dangerously close to his dick.

“So there is a plan.” He grunted. He kept one hand hooked under her calf and the other - still slightly damp - went to her breast.

“I may have given this some consideration.” Cat admitted. Her flush did not stop at her jaw or neck but went all the way down her chest. “You are a man worth looking at.”

He laughed at that, loud and gruff and full bodied. Cat could feel it shake her from where she sat on his stomach.

She reached behind her to his cock and grabbed him. His laughter ended in a grunt and his hands tightened on her. She lifted herself up and wiggled back until she was over his. His hands were on her hips then, but other than that he remained very still.

Cat breathed in and out as calmly as she could, trying to still the fluttering in her stomach before sinking onto him. She made it two, maybe three inches before the stretching began to burn. She stopped, waiting, feeling the  _ pressure _ , feeling the  _ heat _ , before rolling her hips down another inch. Declan grunted under her again. Cat could feel him quivering, but he stayed still, his hands gripping her even harder. She would have bruises in the morning. She still didn’t care.

Cat rolled her hips a bit more, taking in as much as she could before the burn was back. He was  _ thick _ . Thicker than fingers by no small amount.

“You alright?” His voice was tense and tight and deep.

“Yeah, I just-” SHe stopped. Her voice shook. She took another breath and tried again. “Yes. I’m just not as… prepared as I thought.”

Declan pushed himself up so that his chest was against hers. He was still taller than her, even though she sat above him,  _ on _ him. He stroked her back, her shoulders, her thighs, as she adjusted. She was far more tense than she had been but a few minutes before. She wanted to relax again. She needed to relax again. Cat met his eyes now, saw his concern, his own tenseness, and kissed him. 

Her lips were on his and his on hers, soft and hungry and kind and everywhere. They kissed each other as if that were all they were doing, like he wasn’t half buried inside her.

His thumb circled her clit again - when had it left her back? - and she gasped for air as the muscles that held her above him gave out. She was flush against him in every way and he was so deep inside her she felt like she couldn’t breath. It  _ hurt _ . Not terribly, not for long, and it faded quickly once she remembered to work her lungs. Cat gasped and swallowed like a woman drowning.  _ Water, yes, _ she thought. Riding him was like swimming in a cold lake on a warm day. The longer she put off submerging herself completely, the more she shivered, the longer her fear of it built, and the less she wanted to paddle about freely. But  _ God _ did she love swimming, no matter that it took a few minutes of unpleasant adjustment.

“Cat.” There was palpable worry in his voice now. He hadn’t expected her to fall down as she had. Most likely he had been hoping to make her relax.

“That was easy enough.” She said, not knowing if she was joking or not, before shoving him down hard. He went willingly, his hair splayed out behind him and his cock twitching inside her. She leaned over him, her hair falling onto his chest as she lifted herself up. His hands were on her thighs again, gripping her tight, so tight, as she rolled her hips. This was what she wanted, this was what she had hoped for.

Cat had her hands on the bottom of his ribcage to better leverage herself. She pulled up more. His hips chased her just barely, no doubt not intentionally. She sunk onto him again and this time he met her with purpose.

“More.” Cat said. He obliged. She could feel his strength, his control, his cock, as he moved with her. It was good. It was beautiful. It was right. 

Cat leaned back farther to give the weak muscles in her legs a change of pace and suddenly he was  _ there. _ Cat felt her spine go rigid as he thrust into her. Her nails bit into him again.  _ They were both going to have marks. _

Declan was quick to catch on, that was sure, as he thrust into her again. Her hand went to her cunt, feeling him enter her over and over, her fingertips brushing against her clit.

It didn’t take long from there. She rode him as best she could, but her muscles weren’t used to it and her body spasmed with every move. He maintained his composure even as she fell apart over him. Cat caught herself before she fell on top of him, keeping herself at least partially upright as he pushed four, five more times before pulling her off of him and spilling onto her hip.

Cat collapsed next to him, trying to decide it it would be appropriate to curl into him. They lay in the middle of her bed crossways, his feet sticking out over the edge. Before she could decide, he was getting up. Cat quelled the disappointment in her gut. He did not belong to her. Declan bent down over the pile of discarded clothes and Cat wondered if she ought to put on her dressing gown and walk him to her door. She would have to go down anyways to lock it after him. Might as well be polite.

But when Declan straightened, it was a handkerchief he held. He walked back to her easily, his body glistening with sweat in the firelight. He cleaned her off without saying anything and she let him.

“Odd way to sleep, don’t you think?” He said, raising his eyebrow at how she was still stretched out the wrong way.

“Odd way to do anything.” She said back, but pulled herself up all the same. When she moved back to lean against the headboard, he came with her.

Cat curled around Declan as he wrapped his arms around her. Falling asleep was easy after that.

 

* * *

 

When Cat woke, it was to heat and hands and teeth. Declan was over her, covering her, kissing her. Was she awake? Probably. She didn’t open her eyes. She kissed him back, muttering encouragements and taking what he offered. His fingers were in her then, feeling and exploring. She spread her legs, muscles protesting as they stretched some more. Cat could feel hair covering her face and wasn’t sure if it was his or hers. It didn’t matter. She didn’t open her eyes.

Instead, she reached down until she felt his coarse curls and wrapped her hand around him. She guided him to her and he pushed in in one long, slow movement. Cat groaned as he did, losing her breath when he was seated fully inside her. She realized she had been quiet when she had been on him. Not silent, but definitely quiet. She wasn’t this time.

This time when she came it was loud and brutal and with his blood under her fingernails. She had wanted to feel his strength. He showed it to her with reckless abandon. She didn’t care about how sore she was going to be as she screamed into his veil of hair.

Cat wasn’t sure when he pulled out of her. She wasn’t sure how he finished, other than that it wasn’t on her. She kept her eyes closed as her heart slowed and the sweat on her body dried. By the time he lay beside her again, pulled her against him again, she was asleep.

 

* * *

 

This time, when Cat woke next, she was cold. There was no man beside her. She rolled over into the dent in the mattress that was much bigger than her and looked around. Her clothes were lying at the foot of her bed. Her shoes were on the floor next to them, as were a pair of boots that did not belong to her. He was still in her house.

Cat put on a clean shift and her dressing gown before gently walking down the stairs. She checked each room as she passed, first the front hall, then the sitting room, the study, the dinning room, and finally the kitchen.

Declan stood barefoot and with his shirt loose, facing out her window. There was a pile of clean dished next to him.

“Declan?” Cat wasn’t sure if it was a question or not. He turned to her with a softness in his face that not many knew existed.

“Breakfast?” He asked.

“Yes, that would be nice.” She smiled at him. It was a beautiful morning and she was happy.


End file.
